A Duck
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Children from an orphanage visit an Elven Festival. An Elven Festival seen through the eyes of a child. Dedicated to children of war. One-shot. Complete. Part of the Green Leaves Universe


**Author's Note:**

Constructive criticism is welcome.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own. Story is my own.

**Dedication: **Dedicated to the children of war... to the orphans... to the young ones who were caught up in the war with no one to take them in. I cannot hug them from such a distance. I cannot wipe their tears away. Here, I can offer them only this.

**~S~**

_Ithilien Forest,_

_Gondor._

They could only see through the back of the wagon, what with both the roof and the sides being covered by a heavy cloth. Their wagon jumped and lurched as it went over the sharp rocks over the road.

"Alright, me ducklings!" He heard their caretaker's jolly voice sound over their heads. Constance was their caretaker and head of the orphanage. She was nice enough, a jolly young woman who had been kind to any child who found himself or herself at the orphanage's doorstep with an adamant heart that their folks would come to pick them when in reality… there was no one for them. "Look over here, little ones!" They jumped once more when they went over a hard rock and they heard Constance's husband yell, "Sorry!" from where he was driving. He turned just in time to see the black-haired caretaker deliver a hard punch on the wood separating them from the driver's chair, making it vibrate. He and the other children erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Oi, Amdir! Watch yourself, old goat!"

"Old!" Her young husband cried indignantly. "I will show you all old!"

This time when the lurch came, they grabbed on to some support just in time to keep themselves from hitting their heads against the iron support holding the cloth above their heads. They heard Amdir cackle in front of them.

"Alright, listen well, little ones!" Constance called, rubbing the crown of her head since she was not fast enough to grab on to something. "I do not want you all running off here and there when we get off, all right? We will stay together. Some of you will go with my old, goat-like husband." The younger kids rewarded her with a new set of giggles.

"I can hear you, you know!" Amdir yelled at the front. She shook her head, smiling in good humor before continuing.

"And others will go with me. If you want to see something, then you ask for permission from me or Amdir first, then if we have the time, we will take you there. No exceptions!" She said sternly before brightening up her face with a smile. "Now, do you have any questions?"

"What are elves like?" One of the girls piped up, removing her thumb from her mouth. She clutched a ragged doll in one hand, her round face showing she was nearly five or six summers.

"Well, what do you think they are like, little kitten?"

"Searos said that the elves are tall and fair with flowers in their hair."

Constance laughed.

"Well, me duck, we will see when we go there, shall we?"

"Can we meet the ladies?"

"We will see." Constance promised.

As soon as they got off the wagon, they heard laughter mixed with excited chatter. The elven city was breathtakingly beautiful. There was a variety of wood used in the buildings. Some of the buildings were a brown so dark that it was almost black. Other buildings were made with greyish to dark grey wood. The trees were connected with each other through bridges, with banners hanging from them shiny in material and in the colors of green, brown and gold. Most of them were the city's symbol, side by side with a young leaf unfurling but pierced by an arrow.

"That is the elven prince's emblem up there, me pets!" Constance sang over their heads. "He rules this city, you know."

They saw elves around them, laughing and talking. They passed by an open smithy, where there were elves working and hammering. They had swords and armors and other weapons. They found elves wearing identical garments that seemed to be their uniform of green and black with pots of feathers and warmed wax in front of them. They were fletching arrows. Everywhere, there were men, women and children gawking at them as they worked.

At one corner, sitting on a high platform and a canopy above them were a few musicians, playing soothing music as the people roamed about. Then he smelled the fresh scent of wet earth, so rich and earthy. At once, he turned for it.

There was a large area over which the elves had laid old rugs on and arranged tables around the area. The tent had no walls; just a large cloth held aloft with ropes and firmly placed sticks. The elves working there wore old clothes, with their sleeves rolled back. Ceramic pots, plates and other utensils decorated some of the tables.

"Do you want to go there, little duck?" He heard Constance ask him. He turned to see her bend her knees slightly to come to his eye level. He nodded breathlessly, excitedly.

"Come, little chicks! Let's see what those elves are up to." She called to the other children.

Without waiting for her to catch up, he ran to the mentioned tent, curious to see what they were doing. The elves were immersed in their work, and they already had a large crowd watching them. The she-elves wore dark brown gowns, with aprons tied at their waists that had pockets sewn to them. Their sleeves were pulled back, and their arms were covered in wet earth all the way to their elbows. The male elves wore similar cloths, some torn and others simply very old and unkempt as they worked, the state of their arms the same as the she-elves'.

Some people came in front of him, blocking his view and he huffed in annoyance. Ducking his head, he pressed between different people, taking advantage of his small height to pass through and get to the front. He could finally see again and he took a few steps forward than anyone else, partly out of curiosity and also to keep the same thing happening to him again.

He first looked at the black-haired, slim elf that was squatting on the ground in front of a bowl. He was holding what was some sort of firm but wet earth in his hands, the pure color of brown so beautiful and inviting. It was circular in shape and long like a pillar. The elf got up and placed it on a round turning table with a sound like a slap vibrating through the air. The elf sat down in front of the turning wheel, one leg on either side. He used his hands, running it over the pillar of wet earth, before dipping in his thumbs at the top of the pillar. Slowly the pillar began to swell, until the elf could place his entire hand into it, one hand remaining outside to keep the shape of the vase.

It started with a wide neck, and then the elf dipped his hand into the vase lower till its width was greater than that of its neck. One hand stayed outside, maintaining the shape of the vase and keeping it smooth. Finally the vase took on its final shape, becoming extremely wide around the middle. It reminded him of the large vases that Constance kept in a shelter, filled with water and kept cool in those ceramic vases.

"Come along children!" He heard a woman's voice rise up. Constance! He thought in recognition. "Let us go and see what other things are there in this festival."

He stuck out his lower lip, lingering as he watched the elves work. But then he felt Constance touch his shoulder.

"Come on, little lamb. It is time to go. There are desserts."

The appeal of desserts was strong but his wish to stay at the tent was much stronger. Still, he shuffled away, clutching onto the woman's girdle.

He could smell the fresh scents of baking and cooking wafting down from the tree houses. Tables were arranged near the roots, with fresh food placed there to eat. There were more ladies here than their men. One of them seemed to be their leader. She wore a rich green dress with a circlet resting in her black, braided hair and she was large around the middle. Two hounds padded after her, following her around faithfully. Constance, it seemed, also thought she was the one in charge because she went straight up to her. They exchanged a few words, and the she-elf shifted her weight, her hands resting on the small of her back as if she was in some discomfort. But the she-elf smiled warmly and nodded in agreement.

"Come over here, me ducklings! This is Lady Arodis. She has tarts for everyone!"

The children shuffled awkwardly forward, the boys hanging back. The girls were somewhat bolder, taking in the she-elf's inviting smile. Then one of the girls went up to the she-elf. She was one of the many five-summers-old in the orphanage. She timidly placed her hand on the she-elf's stomach and asked, "Baby?"

The she-elf laughed and placed her own hand on the girl's, patting it, "Baby," she confirmed. All at once all the girls surrounded the she-elf, chattering away at once.

"Why don't you go and join them?" Constance asked, appearing beside him. He shook his head.

"They are all girls." He said sourly. Constance laughed. All the other boys were making the same faces of disgust and suffering.

"Do you want to see where the weapons are then?" She asked.

"I want to see them make the pots." He replied hopefully. His face fell when she thought over it, looking serious.

"I cannot let you go there all alone." She said doubtfully. Amdir appeared behind her.

"It seems your little herds of doves found themselves a she-elf to moon over." The young man boomed, grinning as he watched the she-elf carefully sit down on a bench before letting the girls swarm over and around her. A concerned elf walked towards the expecting mother, who Amdir thought might be her husband. "I will take the lads and show them the shooting ranges and the practicing rings- Why, what do we have here?" He added, taking in the crushed look on his face.

"He wants to see the potters." She told her husband.

"Potters?" He asked, curiosity breaking through his mood. "Is that what they are called?" Amdir nodded. The man turned one more time to check if their little charges were not causing trouble. He was right about the elf, it seemed. He really was her husband, and the lady shooed him with a reassuring smile before letting the youngest of the girls place her chin on her knees while others tucked themselves easily beneath her arms. Amdir turned his attention backed to him.

"Aye, that is what they are called. They work with clay, boy. They turn it into shapes of pots and plates and spoons, and then they let them dry to use." Amdir explained. Then he turned to his wife. "Then let him go and see them. It is not as if he will come to any harm."

Constance hesitated, fighting an inner battle before finally relenting. She did, however, push a blueberry tart into his hands before sending him off with Amdir. The young man led him back to the potters. He bounced on his heels once he reached there, trying to get a clear view. Then he felt Amdir bend closer to speak near his ear.

"Go forward, young one. But try not to disturb the elves."

He nodded and left as soon as he could before Amdir could change his mind. He scrambled up to one potter. Looking up, he recognized the elf as the first potter he had seen.

He saw the elf hold an already shaped pot with a narrow neck and straight vase with equal swelling. The clay had firmed somewhat. He held it steady with one hand before taking hold of a sharp knife and carefully cutting it into half. One half he placed at a side and the other he placed on a stable small table resting on his worktable. Setting down the knife on one side, the elf carefully used his fingers to smoothen the cut edges of the half resting on the small table. Then he reached for a tray, where he noticed clay in a strange shape. He frowned, standing on toes of his feet in his eagerness to see what the potter was doing. The elf, on the other hand, took no notice of him as he placed the queerly shaped clay on the narrow neck of the half-cut vase. Slowly, he started to recognize the shape; the straight beak with a round head and a narrow neck joining with the narrow neck of the vase before becoming broad and ending with a flat back.

"A duck!" He exclaimed in joy as he recognized the artwork. So caught up in the moment that he did not notice the elven potter looked down at him in amusement.

The elf reached for a stool with his foot and dragged towards him, all the while turning the small table to keep the newly-pieced duck from falling apart. When he sat, he grabbed a tool and went to work. He worked on the exterior, etching carefully. Slowly, a design started to take shape. Vines started to appear, tipped with slim, narrow flowers with pointed petal tips. Occasionally, the potter would give the duck a turn before returning to his work. Finally, he finished and set down his tool. Across the body of the duck were intertwining leaves and flowers, all connected with vines. The designs on either side finally met at the duck's tail, forming the roots.

Then he got distracted when he noticed a she-elf sitting on a well-used rug, with pots, mugs and plates placed in front of him. He saw some small pots of paints placed by her side and she was working on painting. He came and sat on the floor, resting on his stomach with both feet high in the air and crossed at the ankles. His head rested on the palms of his hands, kept upright with his elbows. The she-elf was absorbed in her work, painting with a slim brush with very few brush hairs and she painstakingly painted the plate in front of her. It was already carved into a shape of a flower in full bloom, but she was adding crimson color to the tips of the flower petals. She only did the tips, leaving the imagination of the viewer to fill in the rest of the color into the petals. Then she used dark green for the leaves, and only dipped the paint into etches the potters had made for veins. She placed the plate carefully on one side to dry and reached forward for another plate. This one was of a flower only half in bloom. She did the same here, using light brush strokes to color the very tips of the petals and the veins of the leaves. She went on to the third plate, which was of a flower whose petals were just about to unfurl, and here she just touched the colors to the petals tips and the leaves' veins. The last one, of a flower in form of a bud having young leaves, was the only one she left completely without color. When the plates were placed side by side, one could see how the flower bloomed and progressively gained color.

He felt a sudden heat take over him from behind and he twisted and sat completely upright, looking for the source. He saw an elf by a furnace, shirt partially unbuttoned as he carefully placed a newly made pot into the furnace. He scrambled to his feet and ran to that elf.

All the elves were so much taller. He stood barely till their waists. None of them seemed to mind that one of their viewers was roaming around freely amongst them. Or perhaps, they were so absorbed in their work that they did not care.

He wandered around among them for a while now, so focused in what they were crafting that he missed their glances down at him. he stayed there until Constance found him when evening drew near.

"Alright, me little duckling." Constance said, kneeling down beside him. "It is time to go. The sun has almost set."

"But-" he protested. He did not want to go just yet!

"It is time to go, little one. The festival has finished. Look, they are already closing."

Sure enough, the potters were just finishing. Some had already washed the clay from their hands and arms and were sharing bread and some other refreshments among themselves in a corner.

"Alright." He said, resigned. Constance gave him a tight hug before getting up and taking his hand. His dejected air for having to leave the potter's tent was short-lived and all of a sudden he was possessed with an urge to share all that he had seen… something he had not felt in a long time.

"You should have seen it, Constance!" He chattered excitedly, talking fast and bouncing as he did so. "The potters made so many pots and vases and plates and all of them were so different. One of them made it in a shape of a duck. And there was one who made it like those large vases we use to store water in! And there were these sets of plates that looked as if they had flowers blooming. And they would put the pots in a furnace and heat it up and it comes out looking much different than before. And they seem to use different colors of clay as well, so when they use their tools, you see brown, then white then blue deep inside and it looks amazing!"

Constance smiled quietly, listening to the chatter of a very excited boy. His black curls bounced as he spoke in earnest, hands flying out in his description and he was kicking his feet in the air when he sat on the bench in the wagon.

"Alright, me little duck." She said, grabbing one of the blankets, thin and well-used, and wrapped it around the boy. "It is cold tonight. Now, no talking, pet. I want you to sleep for now. That goes for the rest of you."

"Constance," a sleepy-eyed girl said, yawning. "Where are you going?"

"I will ride in the front now, little one. Now, go to sleep, my little ones."

Constance counted the children for what seemed to be the hundredth time. She and her husband had no children of their own, so the orphanage they ran was full of children they took care of and loved. She would rather cut off her own hand than see her children harmed, or lost. Once she was sure that they were all there, she climbed into the wagon and gave each of them a kiss on their foreheads before letting them drift off to sleep. When she came to the boy who, in spite of seeing a large Elven Festival for the first time, spent all of his time with the potters, she smiled through tears and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"Sleep well, little one."

With that she climbed down from the wagon. Amdir placed the supplies they would need for the journey back on the floor of the wagon and the couple went to sit in the front.

"Did you hear how excited one of the boys was?"

"Aye," Amdir replied. "I heard."

"I never heard him talk so much before. The boy was so quiet when he came to the orphanage, poor duck."

"I hear he lost his father in one of those skirmishes in the east. He had no folks to take him. He never had a mother, poor child."

Constance lifted the flap of wagon's cloth that let her see into the wagon. All the children were now sound asleep. They never had much money to hire more help, or to get another wagon, but the children were completely fine with the overcrowded space and the bouncing of the wagon.

"I wonder what it is like." Constance said aloud, gazing at the boy who slept peacefully, rosy-cheeked in happiness even in his slumber. "To be so alone and to find that one thing to interest you and helps you break out of your shell."

"I do not know." Amdir said, handling the reins. "But it makes me happy to know that he found something here that interested him."

"But now he will go back to the orphanage and live on his life like nothing happened."

"That we cannot change. So let him dream for tonight."

Constance sighed and placed down the flap.

oOo

"All of you seem to have developed a small shadow throughout the day."

The potters looked up to see who the amused speaker was. An elf stood, clad in green and gold with a circlet over his head and leaning against one of the tall woods holding up the potter's tent. He was slim as a switch but still muscled and fit enough to hint fighting prowess, with golden hair and amused blue eyes.

"Prince Legolas." The head potter said, rising from where he had been washing his hands and arms in a large container full of water. He grabbed a washcloth and dried himself, moving back to let another potter take his place. It was nighttime and they were just finishing. The rugs were already rolled and tucked away. They were carefully placing their wares in wooden crates, cushioning them with wool to keep them safe till they could be transported to the market to be sold. Elven made pottery always sold at a pretty price. Most of the potters were from Imladris, while the others were from Lorien or Eryn Lasgelen, but those were very few in number. The head potter made his way to the prince, tugging on the leather band that had kept his hair secure while he worked. Black hair tumbled over his shoulders.

"Just Legolas," Legolas replied, holding up a ceramic cup. The head potter accepted it, gratefully drinking the cool water. "Are you all done here?"

"We are just blowing out the furnaces and putting are things away. This festival has been successful, my lord."

"Indeed it has been. But tell me more about that little shadow you had grown. Rumor has it that you had a Gondorian boy roaming around inside the tent."

"Oh, yes. He seemed quite eager to watch us work. I do not think he had ever seen anyone work with clay before."

"Did he trouble you or your people? If he did then you could have asked to have him removed-"

"He was no trouble, Sire." A she-elf spoke, placing a small box of paints and brushes on her hip. She came to stand in front of the prince. "He was only curious and an innocent boy. He just watched me paint."

"And he watched me take care of the furnaces." Another elf spoke up from where he was washing his hands from soot.

"He first went to Handor." The head potter said, glancing over to the elf who was drying his arms before passing the washcloth to another potter. "He was extremely taken by his designs with the ducks."

"Well, you are famous for making animals using clay." Legolas said, leaning back with his arms folded to see Handor as he helped the elves lift one of the folded rugs up into the carts to be taken back to their guild.

"Get changed and come and have feast with us. You deserve rest and some enjoyment for yourself." Legolas unfolded his arms and turned around, walking away.

"My lord," Someone called the prince, making him halt in his tracks. Legolas looked back to see Handor reach him. "If I may have a word?"

"Of course. What is it?" Legolas asked.

"This boy," the potter said. "It seemed as if he belonged to some orphanage."

"That would make sense." Legolas said, looking confused. "My advisors told me that two orphanages would be coming to visit this last day of the festival."

"I meant to ask, could I see him?"

Legolas frowned. "Why would you want to?"

"It is just," the potter said, stopping and hesitating. "I wish to. I do not know how to explain it."

Legolas gazed at him for a long while until he finally spoke, "I will ask my advisor on which orphanages came to the festival today. We might find out where he is."

"Thank you, my lord."

oOo

He was back to his quiet self. He was not close to other children. He did not play much either, except when they played group games.

"Oh, look at the little duck." Constance whispered to her husband after she took Amdir's coat when he returned from his woodwork. They both glanced at one boy in particular. "He has become quiet again."

"It cannot be helped." Amdir said. "There is no way we can help him."

"I tried everything. I tried to make him help me, to talk to me but nothing would work."

Three months passed. Spring season turned to summer, the heat increasing greatly. With so many orphans in the orphanage, it was unbearably hot, and children were quarrelling and fighting among themselves. Constance was having trouble controlling them. He sat by the window, pouting out his lower lip and he gazed outside, not seeing anything in particular. Then he heard Amdir enter the orphanage.

He jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He looked up to see the young man standing above him.

"Come, little one. There is someone who wants to meet you."

He frowned in confusion. He had no family to take him in and he had no friends outside his orphanage. He did not know who would wish to meet him. He uncurled from his seat and followed the young man. Amdir led him forward till they reached to a room near the entrance of the orphanage. His heart skipped a beat. Orphans go in there when there is someone looking to adopt a child.

Amdir opened the door and let him go through. He found someone sitting by a table, head turned away. He was dressed as a traveler, with dusted green and brown garments and large green cloak over his shoulders. He then turned his head at the sound of the door opening and he saw it was an elf. In fact, it was one of the potters from the festival, the one making the duck. The elf smiled down at him and raised out his hand. He suddenly understood the meaning about being brought here and the elf present there. He felt strange and his lower lip trembled a little. He hesitantly raised his hand and placed it into the potter's outstretched one. The elf's smile was kind and understanding, and his hand was gentle and soft, perhaps because he spent most of his time handling wet clay. No, he realized he was not near to tears and he was not even happy. He was scared. He was scared that he would be all alone again. He was scared that he would find something happy in studying with him, only to have it taken from him. He was scared that the elf would take him in and then leave him, just the way his father had done. His lower lip trembled violently at his thought.

The elf, unaware of the boy's inner turmoil, placed his other hand on top of the boy's, rubbing it soothingly.

"Good evening, little one." The elf said.

'Little one'. Everyone called him that. Ever since he came to the orphanage, nobody used his real name. It hurt. He was a person. He had a name.

"My name is Handor." The potter said. "What is yours?"

He blinked. It was the first time somebody asked his name instead of demanded it of him just because they had to drop him to the orphanage. Constance was introduced to him, so she never asked him his name.

"Amroth. My name is Amroth." He replied.

"Well, Amroth. I saw how you were looking at us work some months ago in the Elven Festival. Do you like to watch pottery?"

Wordlessly, Amroth nodded, black curls bouncing with the movement.

"Would you like to learn it?"

Learn it? Orphans never learned anything. They were put out to work in the farms when they became older, to be at the farmers' beck and call. Some had good masters, while the others had bad ones, running them to the ground and casting them away when they were no longer of some use. Anyone else who knew what was going through his mind would wonder at all the dark thoughts the child had, but Amroth had seen war through his eyes. He had aged far more than a child of ten summers should.

"Are you going to leave me?" Were the first words that came out of Amroth's mouth. Something flashed through Handor's faced, shock, surprise, comprehension and then ended in sadness.

"No, Amroth. I will not leave you in my own design. What fate has in store for us is something I cannot promise." Amroth still studied his face. Handor looked back steadily before breaking eye contact. "I have something for you." Handor lifted one hand to reach for the satchel he had slung over his shoulder. He shifted around for a bit and then pulled his hand out with something clutched in it. Handor brought it in front of Amroth, opening his fist. There, on the palm of an elven hand, was resting a small duck made of clay. The detail was exquisite, with the feathers and the tail. The bottom part of the duck was flat so that it could rest on a surface without a problem. "If you wish, I could teach it to you, how to work with clay. Do you want to learn?"

Amroth took the duck in his hands, cradling it. In the elf's hand, it seemed too small but in his, it was perfect. He looked up at Amdir. In spite of his time in the orphanage, which was neither terrible nor comforting, he trusted Constance and Amdir. If they thought well of the ones coming to take in the orphans, then he was comforted.

"Yes, I want to."

**~S~**

**Author's Note:**

Told through the eyes of a child. Amroth is an OC and orphan of a soldier. It is said after the War, Aragorn and Eomer fought in the east.

Children do withdraw in orphanages due to the large numbers of orphan present there and lack of adult attention. Fear of loss is also great in them.

Lady Arodis is an OC, daughter of Himben. Elf of Erny Lasgelen. She is Dorian's wife. Dorian is an elf who appears in numerous tales of mine.

Please read and review.


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